


GatorWestern

by amybeegood, baretrap



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood and Gore, Dark Rey, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Reylo - Freeform, Rough Sex, Smut. Smut. And more Smut., Star Wars References, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-06-19 04:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amybeegood/pseuds/amybeegood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/baretrap/pseuds/baretrap
Summary: Ex-cowboy Ben Solo is living a quiet life as a gator-wrangler in the Louisiana swamplands.One day he meets a strange girl who shows him his destiny.Tags may be updated as the story progresses. Consider yourselves warned.A Note on the Mildly Dub-Con tag: Among their many powers, vampires have the power to compel others to their will. I want to emphasize that all the sex in this fic is consensual, but that the emotions that might come forth immediately prior to and during are partially a result of compulsion. (i.e. feeling angry, greedy, jealous, etc.)  If this is something that might bother you, please find a different fic to read - there are lots of great stories out there! XOXO!And now we have aSpotify Playlist.





	1. Meet Your Neighborhood Gator Wrangler

The swamp teemed with flora and fauna, moving in constant, lethargic ripples. Thick, sultry air permeated everything like sticky-sweet syrup until the humidity entrapped the plants and animals in an inescapable languor.

Everything ebbed and flowed with sluggish persistence, waltzing gently to the soft-moving waters of the swamp. Spanish moss swayed ghostlike in the shadowed trees while gators splashed tirelessly through the reeds in the endless, ancient pursuit of their next meal.

Despite the torpid atmosphere, the bugs and frogs kicked up quite a ruckus.

Ben Solo stood in the doorway of his small cabin, listening to the cacophonous racket, watching the sunset through the hazy mist blanketing the swamp. As pinks and oranges splashed across the darkening sky and faded into the horizon, the swamp did not quieten.

Nothing was ever truly motionless or silent here. If anything, the fading light underscored the quantity and variety of life surrounding him. And even if Ben couldn’t see it, he could always hear it.

An ex-ranch hand from Wyoming, Ben still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up living in the middle of a Louisiana swamp as a gator wrangler. Sometimes he missed the crisp mountain air and baking-hot summer days on the ranch.

_The Wyoming summers could cook right through to my bones_ , he thought. _I used to dream of long, cold winters on those days._

He considered it for a moment before picking up his half-eaten dinner of Ramen noodles mixed with two poached eggs and half a pan of sweet cornbread. He ate mechanically, not particularly enjoying the taste. But he knew he needed his strength. For later.

From his vantage, Ben could see the dark, straight shadow of the long wooden dock, extending down to the reed-filled waters of the bayou. The cabin was built on stilts, but it was sturdy enough. He cooked his meals on a camp stove using propane. The stove was set up behind the screens of the modest porch at the front of his cabin.

The humidity of the swamp clung constantly, making him sweat through his t-shirt without fail every day. Wrangling gators was hot, hard work, and dangerous, too. But he didn’t mind. He was used to dirty work.

And lately…he’d been dreaming of it.

He cocked his sweat-stained Stetson back on his head and grabbed a cold beer from the antique icebox in the cabin. There was no electricity out here, so Ben had to take his boat four miles downstream every week to pick up ice blocks and supplies.

Ben popped the cap off the bottle and swigged half the beer. He took a few minutes to appreciate the sunset and wondered if tonight would be the last one he would ever see.

 

As he gulped down the rest of his beer, Ben was strangely conscious of his throat muscles working. He thought about the tendons and arteries and veins all the vulnerable parts required to complete such a simple act as drinking a beer.

_What a weird thought._

His head tipped back to catch the last foamy drops before they went flat.

Well, considering what he’d finally figured out this morning, maybe not so weird.

Ben made sure to latch the screen door in case any critters came exploring in the night.

_Nothing worse than finding a riled-up gator trapped in the porch when you go out for your morning piss._

He turned off the lantern swaying on its hook by the door and made his way inside.

The hairs on the back of his neck weren’t prickling, yet, but it would be full dark soon enough.

And full dark was his new least favorite time.

 

The first time he met her almost a week ago, Ben had been so tired from his supply run, he didn’t really notice anything… _off_ …until after she was gone.

It had been sundown, and he’d been trying to get everything loaded into the cabin before full dark.

His swamp boat had broken down on the way home from town – _town_ being an optimistic euphemism for the general store/gas station hovering over the bayou on thick wooden posts like a poisonous spider.

Ben hated going there, and he especially hated dealing with Unkar Plutt, but he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to eat and survive. It was the only place to get supplies for miles, even though Plutt was an evil, greedy man and doing business with him made Ben feel…a bit like a traitor.

Ben loathed handing over money to that crappy excuse for a human being. He especially hated the way Plutt’s calculating eyes always crawled over him and the way the corpulent man licked his fleshy lips every time Ben walked through the door.

Ben was pretty sure Plutt was charging him extra whenever he thought he could get away with it.

Ben didn’t mind about the money so much as the principle of the thing.

The economic hardship in the area was some of the worst in the country, and Ben had seen firsthand how hard-working families suffered at the hands of men like Plutt.

It was one thing to try to take advantage of a healthy, grown man who could handle himself. Ben had no doubt Plutt would back down if Ben really wanted to push the issue of price-gouging… but, no, it was the other families in the area who really suffered from greedy bastards like Plutt.

Ben was thinking about Plutt on his way home when he heard the telltale sputter of the fan propelling his flat-bottomed swamp boat. Damn thing kept breaking down, and Ben knew he should’ve replaced it weeks, if not months ago.

By the time he got the thing running again, it was getting dark. The gators generally tended to be active day _and_ night, but Ben knew during mating season they would be more dangerous when they were nocturnal.

Although he had his 12-gauge and a .357 Magnum on him, not to mention his 12-foot bullwhip, Ben knew even a crack shot couldn’t aim in full dark.

When he finally arrived at the dock leading to his cabin, Ben was exhausted and grumpy.

He was hungry, sweaty, and pissed off at the swamp boat. The ice-block had started to melt, and Ben knew he’d be lucky if it lasted a full week, now.

The realization sent him into an even worse mood, knowing half the food he’d brought back would go bad if it wasn’t refrigerated.

_Why the fuck did I decide to move out here, anyway?_


	2. A Midsummer’s Night Gator Dream

It would have been six days since he’d met her, and he was now – finally – fucking _terrified_.

The first day had been when the swamp boat broke down. He’d been late getting home and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a warm bath and drink a cold beer.

He’d been hauling the last of the supplies to the cabin when he heard a rustling in the brush just out of sight.

He slowly pulled the .357 from his side and pointed it at the bushes.

_Fucking gators. They are all over the place._

To his surprise, it wasn’t a gator, and he was glad he hadn’t taken a pot-shot at the bushes.

A young woman stood next to the porch. She was almost _glowing_ , but Ben told himself it was a trick of the filtered light from the low-hanging moon through the clouds.

“Uh. Hello?” he asked stupidly. _Not what I was expecting_. “Can I help you?”

She watched him for a long minute before giving him a radiant smile.

The open prettiness of her face contradicted her rather ratty-looking outfit. Cut-off jean shorts and a stained white halter top were fairly standard attire for this part of the world…just maybe not for an unexpected meeting at night. In the middle of a swamp at a stranger’s cabin.

“Yes. I think you might do just fine,” she said in answer to his question. Her voice sounded older than she looked.

Ben felt an uncomfortable anxiety writhe through him. Although he was a big man, taller than most and well-muscled from years of wrangling animals, he felt…vulnerable. But, he had the .357 out and his bullwhip at his side.

Unless she was hiding an Arkansas toothpick in those skimpy jean shorts – which he very much doubted – he could easily overtake her.

He gulped down his nervousness and queried politely, “What can I do for you, miss?”

She shivered and glanced around, “It’s chilly out here. And the gators are calling. Can you hear them?”

Ben could hear them. The males made the louder, more unusual rumbles as their mating calls. He could hear several of them nearby.

“Um. Are you lost? Do you need to come inside?” Ben was actually pretty sure this girl was lost, and by the look of her, she’d been wandering the swamp for a while.

He couldn’t leave her out here. Not with the gators and god knew what else.

“ _Ohhhh, yessss_ ,” she breathed.

Ben hefted the heavy bags he’d been holding over his shoulder, careful of the 12-gauge strapped across his back.

“Follow me,” he said, and he strode into the cabin, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

For the briefest of moments, he reckoned he saw a … _predatory_ … look in her hazel eyes as she followed him.

But, when he glanced back at her for a better look, and she appeared young and scared.

 _Trick of the light,_ he thought, standing just inside the door, holding it open for her in silent invitation.

The cabin was never kept locked – Ben didn’t have much of anything worth stealing out here, and nobody ever came this way. If they did, they would be welcome to help themselves to whatever they needed. Ben had a strong _live and let live_ philosophy on life.

“Nice place,” the girl muttered, looking around the near-dark, single room.

Her chestnut hair shone in the dull lamplight, after Ben quickly lit a few lanterns.

The cabin was anything but “nice.” A small woodstove crouched in the corner, and on the opposite side of the room sat an old, cast-iron, claw-foot tub. Ben had never quite figured out how it had managed to get there.

A few rag-tag chairs, a workbench, and Ben’s bed took up pretty much the rest of the space. The door through the back led to an open deck where Ben kept wood stacked in a neat pile. A small pathway led to an outhouse and the well-shed a ways back into the woods.

Ben’s old Ford truck sat near the deck, but it didn’t run, not that he would have anywhere to drive it to. Taking the swamp boat to town was much faster than driving, and Ben preferred skimming over the waters of the bayou to bumping along the dusty roads.

Ben looked the girl over in the better light and decided she couldn’t have been lost in the swamp for too long. There wasn’t a scratch on her, and, although she was lean, she wasn’t skinny. She didn’t have the starved, hopeless look he’d seen on the faces of some of the poorer people in the parish.

She gave him a faint smile, acknowledging his once-over as if she knew _exactly_ what he saw. Her eyes still held an odd glow, but Ben attributed it to the lamplight.

In fact, the lamplight spilled forth a tenuous, dreamlike quality into the atmosphere of the cabin’s single room.

Ben was not usually prone to thoughts of dreams or anything not firmly grounded in the real world. He tended to focus on things like not getting gored by bulls or chomped on by gators. The reality of daily living was enough for him.

But tonight. It felt like a dream as he watched the girl. A random thought bit into his mind, sharp as a tooth.

_I want her. I want to fuck her six ways to Sunday._

This was so out of character for him, he stopped in his tracks, halfway through unstrapping the 12-gauge from his back.

_I wonder if she’ll scream or moan when I make her come._

Ben’s cheeks flushed red as he tried to banish the random thought from his mind and set the 12-gauge carefully on his workbench.

_I’ll make her scream. So fucking loud. No one can hear._

“Aren’t you a tall drink of water?” She asked, walking right up to him and putting her hand on his chest.

Ben froze. _Is she coming on to me?_

“My, my, my,” she whispered, eyes raking over every inch of him in a sweeping glance. “I do like me a _big_ man.”

_Yes. She is definitely coming on to me._

_This is not how I thought this day was going to go._


	3. Beware the Wrath of a Quiet Gator Wrangler

When she put her hand on his chest, Ben felt an electric jolt shoot through him. She was just standing there in her skimpy cut-offs, nipples poking through the front of her stained halter top, mouth slightly open.

And his dick got hard just from looking at her.

Ben wasn’t inexperienced with women, but it had been _a while_. Attractive females weren’t exactly a dime a dozen in the swamp.

He felt heat creep up from the middle of his chest where her hand rested. The flush on his face deepened.

She slowly traced her open hand down his chest. Down his abs, past the low-slung waist of his jeans. She traced a finger over the bulge there and another shock vibrated through him.

He couldn’t stop looking into her gorgeous hazel eyes.

“Tell me, _mister_. Are you the _hospitable_ type?” she purred at him, the tip of her pink tongue sweeping slowly over her bottom lip.

_Not really._

Ben unclenched his jaw and muttered, “Depends on what you consider hospitable.”

_Right now I’m feeling a little more…aggressive._

She gave the front of his jeans a squeeze. Not a gentle one. Ben’s breathing hitched. He was so turned on.

“I have an itch only you can scratch, cowboy. How would you feel about helping me out?”

_Oh, fuck, yeah._

The rest of the room faded away and he bent his head to kiss her. Her hand remained on his crotch, now stroking him roughly through his jeans.

Right before his mouth caught hers, he glimpsed a flash of very white teeth. He gripped the sides of her head in his large hands, tilted her up to him, and slanted his mouth over hers until she moaned into him.

_She tastes like the air after it rains and Cherry Coke and sex._

He swept his tongue in for more and she moaned again. He was breathing erratically now, especially when her other hand – the one not currently fondling his ever-expanding erection – snaked around his neck and plunged into the hair at the back of his head, giving it a rough yank.

_I wonder what her pussy tastes like?_

They pulled away from the kiss at the same time. In silent communication, they both began furiously undressing.

“Oh, you’re going to be so much fun,” she stated matter-of-factly to him, not breaking eye contact as she stripped off her halter top and kicked off her sandals.

He grunted a little at the sight of her breasts. They were perfect, round, and rosy-tipped.

“You have no idea,” Ben grated out hoarsely as he unbuckled his holster and belt, dropping them to the floor before ripping his t-shirt over his head.

Her eyes widened at the expanse of his muscular chest, and she murmured, “Oh, _yessssss!_ Aren’t you a _treat?_ ”

He shook out his hair and reached for the button on his jeans.

She licked her lips again and Ben was having trouble remembering how to unbutton.

The naked craving in her eyes sank into him like a snakebite.

She shucked out of her cutoffs, and Ben’s tongue almost fell out of his mouth. She had legs for miles and sweetly curved hips. The lightly shadowed apex of her thighs drew his hungry gaze like a lodestone. His hands itched to get on her.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s see what’s in those jeans,” she prompted, arching her back at him as she ran her hands from her waist to cover her breasts in a brazen invitation.

All common sense fogged over with a red haze of lust.

Ben never stripped out of boots, socks, and jeans so fast in his life. Not even after the time he’d accidentally run through a wasps’ nest.

He stood and bit his tongue through pursed lips, glaring at her. Somewhere in his mind, Ben knew she was acting pretty damn _shameless_. For some reason, it simultaneously turned him on and pissed him off.

Ben had never felt so _sexually_ assertive until now. He didn’t care. At this moment, he had zero inhibitions.

“I’m gonna work you over real good, sweetheart,” he promised as she jumped on him, wrapping her legs around his waist and gripping his arms with inhuman strength.

He held her up with arms of steel, muscles bunching and straining. She didn’t weigh a thing compared to the gators he wrestled into submission.

“Yes,” she whispered into his neck, licking and sucking at his collarbone. “You’d better.”

He could feel the heat from between her legs pressed right up against him and smell her arousal and it just about undid him.

She was rubbing herself against him like a bitch in heat.

Ben’s lust went from forge fire to inferno in two seconds flat.

“You just wanna get fucked hard, don’t you sweetheart?” he growled.

“Yes,” she whispered again, biting his collarbone again, almost hard enough to break the skin.

_Bitch. That fucking hurt._

“How hard?” he snapped, turning them to the bed and throwing her down.

She eyed his straining erection and spread her knees wide, showing him the glistening pink folds of her sex. “As hard as you can, sugar. If you think you’re man enough,” she challenged with a taunting lift of her brow.

The damned woman was insulting him, and it only added fuel to the flames.

He climbed onto the bed and hovered over her, half-furious and half more aroused than ever.

Biting his lips, he glanced down at her body, before staring into her eyes. “Just for that, you’re gonna have to beg me before I let you come,” he assured her with no small amount of menace.

_She’s gonna beg. And beg hard._

He swept a possessive hand down her chest, over her stomach, and between her legs. Her eyes glittered into his at his threat.

He pushed a finger into the silky wetness between her thighs and she lifted her hips into his hand.

They were both breathing raggedly.

Ben roughly gripped her legs and pinned them wide to bed, then scooted down and took a long, slow swipe at her pussy with his tongue.

It was the best thing he ever tasted.

Her reaction, a slight squeal of pleasure, was about what he’d expected, but he knew she was holding out.

Probably because he’d threatened to make her beg.

But, Ben always followed through on his word. He was going to get her good and worked up first…and then…then, she’d beg for it if it killed him.


	4. The Rise and Fall of a Gator-Wranglin’ Cowboy

Ben put his mouth on her got to work eating her pussy. He traced the sensitive flesh with his tongue and lips as if it were the only thing in the world he wanted to do. Because it was.

She was dripping wet and starting to squirm under his hands. He gave her a few good hard swipes of his tongue, bumping his nose into her clit when he glanced up and noticed her watching him.

Her hands were fisted in his hair, and her eyes definitely held a glazed over look, but she wasn’t begging. _Yet_.

He crawled back up to hover over her again and rubbed the tip of his rock-hard erection between her legs. Then, he kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth so she could taste herself on his lips.

That got her good and riled up – she grabbed him by the shoulders and arched into him. The heat coming off her was enough to start a brush fire.

“Not so fast, sweetheart. You remember what I said?” Ben rasped out. _Ask me nicely._

“Yes,” she tried to lean forward to kiss him, but he pinned her hands down on either side of her head.

He bent forward and sucked a hickey into the side of her neck as she brushed her body against his. Her skin was hot silk and her pebbled nipples grazed against his chest. It was driving him crazy.

He kissed and sucked at the tips of her breasts, first one, then the other. Until she strained against him and he hoped she would cave soon.

He _would_ follow through on his word to make her beg for it, but he really just wanted to give her a good, hard pounding. _Right now._

Hoping to pick things up a bit, he roughly pinned her hands over her head with one hand, using his free hand to stroke between her legs, pushing his thumb against her clit in tantalizingly erratic motions. He slipped a finger inside and almost came all over her belly at the feeling of her slick heat wrapped around his finger.

_She’s gonna feel so good on my cock…_

Her eyes met his desperately. She was starting to look thoroughly distraught.

_Oh, fuck. So good._

He doubled down on his own rampaging lust – he could wait a few more minutes.

_Better drive the point home while you can still think straight…_

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Ben encouraged, pumping his finger into her rhythmically.

“I want you in me,” she moaned. “Pleeeease.”

“Oh, that’s real good,” he murmured into her neck. “I like it when you say _please_.” He slipped another finger into her and worked them around a bit.

“Please, please,” she said again, her eyes were begging, now, too. _Very good, sweetheart._

“Say it again,” Ben whispered, sucking on a perfect little earlobe.

“Please, oh please, just give it to me!” she groaned loudly, sweeping her hands over his chest and shoulders.

Ben honestly couldn’t wait any longer. He guided himself into the sweet pink flesh between her legs.

“ _Mmmm._ Fuck you feel incredible,” he grated out. She was unbelievably hot and tight as he slowly worked himself into her.

He pulled out a little and pushed in more forcefully, resulting in a pleasing clenching of her inner muscles around him and a quiet sob of ecstasy from her. The look on her face made him feel…powerful. _Godlike._

He adjusted his body a bit for a more aggressive angle and began thrusting into her in earnest. He watched her breasts bounce in time to his pushes and her mouth gaped open in tortured pleasure.

“Oh wait. You wanted a good hard fucking, didn’t you?” Ben asked her as if he’d just realized.

“Yes! I did,” she admitted with a moan. Her eyes blazed into his.

“Should I give it to you?” he asked, glaring back at her.

“Yes!” She demanded. “Now.”

_Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m the boss. Not you._

Ben decided it was time to show her who was in charge once and for all.

He let her hands go so he could throw her ankles over his shoulders, gripping her legs in his large hands.

He pulled out nearly all the way and slammed into her. Hard. She was wet enough he could slide in, right to the depth of her. They both grunted in unison at the exquisite pleasure.

_I’m gonna make you scream so fucking loud._

“Hold on,” Ben ordered, tension curling in his gut as she flung an arm straight up, bracing herself against the headboard.

He slammed into her again and she did scream this time as he kept going.

_That’s right. Keep screaming. Nobody can hear it but me._

Her legs slid down until they bent at the knees over his arms.

He gave her a few vicious pumps of his hips until she clawed at him, drawing blood. Her eyes lit up at the sight and he noticed.

“Bitch!” he grunted as he rammed into her again, wrapping her legs around his waist as she leaned in to lick the spot where she'd scratched him. Her pink tongue drew a line of fire across his chest and his desire ramped up a few more notches.

"You need to learn some manners," Ben vowed, leaning in to suck hard on her nipple even as he pumped his hips into hers with punishing blows.

Her nails raked down his back in revenge. And she bit him again, this time right on the arm.

“Fuck!” he scowled at her. She glared back at him remorselessly.

He was going to have change positions, or he wouldn’t have skin left.

He flipped her over and pushed her head into the mattress, yanking on her hair to hold her still.

She hollered at that, but he was sure it was because she wanted more of his cock.

“ _Mmph_. Is this what you wanted?” Ben bit out as he gripped her hips and pounded into her from behind, giving her a few stinging slaps on the butt for good measure.

She was shrieking unintelligibly at this point, but he caught a couple of “oh fuck yeahs” in there and kept going.

The sight of her rounded ass cheeks bouncing against his hips was enough to make him cross-eyed. She had two little dimples right on her lower back, too.

Those just made him want to do filthy dirty things to her.

He felt her clench around him again and warned her, “You don’t get to come until you beg me for it, sweetheart, _remember_?”

He gripped her hips with vicelike hands and fucked her until she could only ramble incoherently.

Sweat poured down his chest and stung where she’d scratched him.

He flung his sweaty hair out of his eyes and watched his massive erection sheath itself in her pink flesh. The feel and sight of her at this angle was going to send him over the edge soon. He was becoming nearly insensate with lust.

He knelt behind her, and yanked her hair, pulling her up until she sat on his cock, facing away from him.

“Hands on the headboard,” he ordered roughly.

She did as he told her, practically sobbing with relief as he speared into her from this new position.

He moaned into her neck as he swept a hand around to the front of her, roughly tugging on a nipple. He anchored her hips onto his and began rubbing her clit with the other hand as he forced her to ride him.

“Mmmm. Yes,” she groaned. “Please. Please, I’m getting close…”

_Yes, you are._

“My name’s Ben,” he said, flexing his hips into her at a steady rhythm. “Say it and I’ll let you come.”

“Ben. Please, Ben.”

“Who am I?” he crooned, increasing the pace and kissing the side of her neck with a hot, open mouth.

“Ben!” she shouted.

“And what am I doing to you?” he persisted, still rubbing her clit in tiny little circles.

“Fucking me! Making me come!” As she said it, he could feel the rippling contractions of her orgasm squeezing him.

“How hard?” he ground out.

“So hard!” Her thighs were trembling on his.

“That’s right. Don’t stop…”

“Fuck, yes!” she cried. “ _Mmmgghhhh_. Yes!”

“Yeah?” The clutching pressure of her pussy pulsed around him. Fuck, he couldn’t breathe…

“Ben! Yes-yes-yes-yes,” she sobbed as she bounced on his cock and flung her head back.

Unstoppable tension unraveled at the base of his spine, all the way through his balls, up _into_ her where he was firmly lodged…

“Mmmm… _fuuuck,_ ” he drew out each word as fire whipped through his veins, and he came into her in what felt like endless hot spurts of ecstasy.

 

After, when they collapsed into a sweaty, breathless heap on the bed, it occurred to Ben she still hadn’t introduced herself. But his thoughts flew right out of his head at her next words.

“So. How long does it take you to reload that thing?”


	5. Best Prepare for a Storm, Cowboy: Even the Gators Are Hunkerin’ Down

It hadn’t taken him long to get going again at all. And over the course of the evening, Ben “reloaded” and “unloaded” another three times. He remembered feeling vaguely impressed with himself right before he passed out in an exhausted stupor.

He woke up early to weakly filtered sunlight coming through the dirty window. He was lying on the wooden-plank floor next to the bed, naked. Ben blinked slowly and tried to get his bearings without moving too much. _He hurt._

Ben groaned weakly and then hissed in pain as he comprehended he was covered, literally covered, in scratches and bite marks.

_So, it hadn’t been a dream, then._

Half of the ancient green-checkered curtain hung limply across the cabin's single window, as part of the curtain rod had been ripped out of the wall. Probably from when he’d been fucking her against the wall and she’d yanked it down…

The bed was totally destroyed. One of the legs on the cheap metal frame had caved in, causing the bed to list at a weird angle. The bed itself was no longer aligned to the wall. They’d fucked so hard, they’d moved it a good two feet out of place. The old-fashioned blue and white-striped mattress hung half off the frame and the sheets had been ripped away and tossed across the room.

Ben ached. Every muscle in his body felt pulverized. His sweat-matted hair had dried to the side of his face. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. His throat was sore.

_Probably from all the yelling_.

And she was gone...

He stood slowly, bracing his hand on the workbench as he stood. He noticed his gun, still in its holster, lying right where he’d dropped it onto the floor last night before.

_Real smart. Just leave a loaded .357 lying on the floor while you tear up the cabin with some hot piece of ass..._

Ben lurched outside to grab the hose connected to the well house, dragged it through the back door, and put one end of it into the bathtub. He didn’t have the energy to take the trouble to heat the water...

He walked back outside to start the flow of water, not bothering to throw on any clothes, since there was nobody around to see him. The chilly morning air seemed to highlight the fresh scratches on his back, chest, arms…

_Hell, is there anywhere she didn't get me?_

He moved shakily through the cabin and out the front porch to look over the bayou and piss and see if there was any sign of the girl.

Nothing. Not even footprints in the muddy patch of ground near the porch.

_Huh. That’s weird._

The sun had already risen in a red ball and hung in the sky through the foggy morning cloud cover. It was beautiful but ominous. Red sun in the morning usually meant weather.

And it felt like a storm was coming.

_Weather’s coming in for sure._

Ben listened for the gators and noticed they were quieter than usual.

_Late spring storm. Better get wood in._

_Might have to hole up a while._

Ben considered making a run to town, but wasn’t sure he wanted to risk the fan breaking on the swamp boat again…Although, if he bought the parts he needed to fix it, then at least he wouldn’t be stranded if the storm brought high waters…

_Where the hell did she go?_

Ben walked back through the cabin and outside to shut off the water filling the tub, slamming the back door with a little more force than necessary on his way back in.

_What the hell happened last night?_

He snatched a beer out of the icebox and popped off the cap as he sank gingerly into the cold water of the tub.

He fucking _hurt_. That bitch had nearly killed him. With _sex_.

Then an even more concerning epiphany dawned on him: They hadn’t used protection of any kind.

_How fucking stupid am I?_

_What if I got her knocked up? What if she has some kind of…disease?_

He had done things to her last night that might not even be legal in this state… Louisiana was pretty conservative… He didn’t even know her name…or her age.

_Ben, you moron. You have been stupid before, but never this monumentally, colossally idiotic._

He took an angry swallow of beer.

_Fucking. Idiot._

Ben set the beer down on the floor next to the tub and dunked himself under the water, running his hands through his hair.

Then he sat there, hunched in the tub, sipping his beer and waiting for the county Sherriff to show up and arrest him.

 

But after an hour, the Sherriff hadn’t shown up, yet. Ben decided to take his chances and head to town. He could stock up on supplies, buy more ice, and try to maybe figure out who _she_ was.

When he finally climbed out of the tub, the aching in his muscles had eased somewhat from the cool water. He threw on his jeans and dug around in a box of first aid supplies for some antibacterial ointment.

His left nipple hurt like a sonofabitch. He was pretty sure he remembered her twisting the hell out of it when he told her to shut the hell up or he was gonna stop fucking her and just come on her face…

_Yeah, that remark had pissed her off real good…_

Why he wanted her pissed at him, he had no idea. The whole night had had a tone of anger layered over it, now he thought about it. It had...fueled him, somehow.

_Jeez, Ben. That’s pretty hardcore, even for…well,_ definitely _for you._

He debated making a fire in the woodstove to brew some coffee but decided to get an early start.

Plus, the cabin was such a wreck, he didn’t want to deal with it just then.

_What the hell got into you last night, Ben?_

As he dabbed ointment on his chest and arms, doing his best to reach his back, it struck him how…off…things had been. Maybe he was sick with a swamp fever or had eaten something bad and it had...

What? Put him into a trance?

Maybe. It had kind of felt like it, actually.

_Like I’d been in some kind of trance. A sex trance?_

_Weird thought, Ben._

Even so. Ben knew himself better than anyone. He had always been more of a lover than a fighter. He was the sweet and gentle, cuddly type. He knew how to treat a lady, and he liked his women to be happy, content.

Although it had been a _really_ long time since… Maybe he’d just had a lot of built-up sexual frustration from living alone for so long.

He made himself a six-egg omelet on the camp stove and drank another beer.

_No_. Last night had been… _off_ …somehow.

Ben had healthy urges as much as the next guy; he wasn’t ashamed to get a little wild during sex.

But last night had been something else.

Almost like an out-of-body experience.

He just hadn’t realized it until daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I learned online: Apparently Oral and Anal are still illegal in Louisiana? Yep. Ben definitely broke the law last night…


	6. A Tight-fisted Hand at the Grindstone, Our Gator-Wrangler

As he threw on a t-shirt, flannel, and boots Ben could feel a storm coming.

His scratches and bites earned the previous night felt uncomfortably conspicuous.

He buckled his holster around his hips, checking the .357 out of habit, then did the same with his 12-gauge before slinging the strap over his back.

It took him a minute to find his Stetson, which had been crammed behind a chair.

He slapped it against his thigh to dust it off and settled it on his head, grabbing another beer from the icebox on his way out the door for the trip downriver.

The air outside tingled with the dark energy that hovers noticeably around every living thing right before major weather moves in. Ben could see a faint line of dark clouds far along the southern horizon, in sharp contrast to the lightly overcast sky above him.

It was too early for hurricane season, yet, and Ben lived far up enough from the coast he wasn’t too worried about it causing much damage up this way… yet those clouds felt ill-omened.

He strode down the dock to the swamp boat, eyes alert for gators and water moccasins, which tended to stay close to the water.

While he couldn’t do a lot of gator-wrangling seeing as it was mating season, he wasn’t willing to sit back and let himself get maimed or killed just because it was against the law to kill gators this time of year...

_It’s mating season for all the cold-blooded things_ , he thought, remembering last week when he'd killed a four-foot cottonmouth with his bullwhip.

It had been unusually aggressive, and while he always had a bite kit handy, Ben still didn’t fancy getting himself snake-bit.

He tried to focus on what needed to be accomplished today. Even though he couldn’t actively hunt gators, he still had plenty to do. Especially around the cabin now that he’d destroyed it.

He thought about _the girl_ and how her eyes had gone all soft and vague right before she orgasmed and he groaned a little.

He started up the swamp boat, cracked open his beer, and headed into town.

 

Ben made it to town nice and early; thankfully, the swamp boat didn’t give him trouble on the way in.

His first stop was Rose Tico’s shop, which was a quick half-mile walk from where he’d docked the boat at Plutt’s. Rose was a top-notch mechanic and she already knew what part Ben needed to fix the fan.

_And Rose is younger… She might know the girl… They are probably about the same age._

Rose greeted him with a welcoming “Hi, stranger!” and a hug. She had always treated him more like an honorary cousin or big brother, and Ben appreciated her open friendliness. It made him feel a little less…alone.

But when he asked Rose about _her_ , as circumspectly as he could, Rose just looked at him quizzically and told him she’d never heard of anyone like that in these parts.

Ben decided to let it go in favor of beating the storm back to his cabin. The air was practically humming with electricity.

He stopped by Plutt’s to pick up another ice block, extra fuel for the lanterns and camp stove, and a few extra food supplies in case he ended up stranded for more than a week.

Plutt was surprised to see him again so soon. The man’s watery, bulging eyes wandered over Ben like cockroaches as Plutt noted the scratches and marks on Ben’s neck and arms. Ben felt a slither of disgust crawl through him and kept his conversation short and to the point.

Rose had followed Ben to Plutt’s where the swamp boat was docked and waited at the dock for him. Together they had the fan part installed and fixed in about twenty minutes. Ben felt sheepish about the fact he’d let it go for so long.

“Thanks, Rose,” Ben said, giving her a friendly bear-hug.

He tried to hand her a twenty for her help and when she tried to refuse it, he stuck it into the front pocket of her bomber jacket and zipped the pocket shut. “I’d have paid more if I’d been stranded out there.”

Being stranded in the middle of the swamp was no joke. Between the snakes and the gators and the sun...it could be deadly.

 

Ben beat the storm back to his cabin by a bare five minutes. Although it wasn’t even noon, yet, the sky had already darkened with thick, black clouds.

He heard a threatening roll of thunder and started hauling supplies into the cabin as quickly as possible.

When he got everything inside, the first thing he did was build a fire in the woodstove. As he surveyed the damage from the previous night, he felt guilt wash through him again.

_I wonder where the girl disappeared to?_

They’d been so…rough…last night. He swallowed a lump of guilt as he looked around the destroyed room.

_I hope she’s okay…_

He hung up his hat and guns and got to work straightening up the place. Thunder started rolling in earnest as Ben evaluated the bed and how to fix it. He hated the idea of sleeping on the mattress directly on the floor.

The thought of unintentionally sharing a bed with a cold-blooded critter gave him a chill.

 

Ben spent the afternoon and early evening cleaning the cabin and listening to the sounds of the storm outside. And thinking about the girl. Especially when he was fixing the bed.

He’d fixed it by finding a round of wood about a foot in diameter, placing it flat-side down under the caved-in corner. He’d taken a hacksaw to the bent metal leg of the bed frame and bored a hole into the wood round to match the width of the leg, fitting the metal stub into the round.

It wasn’t pretty but seemed to do the trick just fine.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she would come back. _Hoping_ she would come back…

The least he could do was apologize... Although she’d seemed to be having a good ol’ time – he certainly had, despite waking up feeling a bit worse for wear.

He’d washed the sheets in the bathtub, then hung them to dry by the woodstove. Everything was clean and cozy and Ben realized he was feeling…anticipation…

As it was nearing sunset, or at least the time Ben supposed it should be sunset, what with the dark clouds obscuring the light, he decided to tuck in early.

It had been rainy and chilly all day and he’d been feeding the woodstove constantly. _I’ll have to chop more wood in the morning,_ he thought, lying on his newly reinforced bed.

_What if she comes back?_

It was unlikely. The storm was picking up again, and anyone would be a fool to be out in that kind of weather.

_What if she doesn’t come back?_

The thought of not seeing her again seemed even more upsetting than the idea of her out in the storm, coming back to him.

Ben felt a surge of lust as he realized he wanted more of... _whatever_ had happened last night. He wanted more of her.

He was getting hard just thinking about it.

He turned down the lantern and leaned back into the bed. He thought about the way she’d screamed for him last night, then, when her ability to speak wore out, the way she’d moaned in the most delicious, husky voice.

He reached down and took his erection into his hand, slowly stroking up and down. He thought about the silky texture of her skin sliding against him.

_More._

Her breath had been hot on his neck and her pussy had been so fucking wet. And tight. Her hands had gripped his hair, fingers digging into him as she’d spasmed around his cock.

He stroked harder, groaning loudly as he tried to mimic the sensation of _her_.

The wind outside picked up.

He could never get enough of that _feeling_. That excruciatingly sweet pressure of her clenching around him…

_More._

Lightning flashed close by.

Thunder rumbled through the cabin, rattling the walls.

He felt aching desire coil through him as he stroked himself harder, his chest filled with a hungry yearning. He couldn't ever be satisfied.

He _wanted._

_"Decided to start without me, cowboy?”_

He wasn’t even surprised at the sight of her standing in the doorway. Just keen for _more_.


	7. A Greedy Gator-Wrangler is Always in Want

“Get your sweet ass over here and help me out with this,” Ben grunted, still stroking himself while watching her eagerly.

She gave him a devilish grin and simply said, “Oh, sugar...”

She was wearing an old-fashioned sundress and was dripping wet from the rain outside.

The sight of her made him achingly hard.

She slowly pulled her dress over her head and dropped it to the floor, locking her gaze onto his.

The air in the cabin bled a heavy electric tension from the storm. Layered over that was… something else. Something...off...

But Ben couldn’t concern himself with whatever it was. Not at the moment.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She moved languidly, as if her joints and limbs were filled with molasses, sucking on a finger before running it down the center of her chest, over the taut plane of her belly, and…then she ever-so-slowly dragged it between her legs.

Ben let out a ragged groan at the sight, increasing the pace of his strokes.

_I…need it._

“…you look … yummy…” she murmured to him, strolling to the bed. She stood over him for a moment before pushing her wet finger into his mouth. “…is that what you want?”

She moaned lightly as he sucked on her finger. He traced the curve of her fingernail with his tongue, wrapping his lips around her excitedly, trying to get every last drop.

The scent of her made his heart hammer in his chest, matching the roll of thunder outside the cabin.

_Yes. More._

“Why don’t you climb on?” he invited, swallowing a lump of uncontrollable lust down his throat.

She crawled onto the bed with him and sat on his thighs, gently pulling his hand away from his straining erection.

He wanted to feel her wet hair in his hands and taste her mouth as he sheathed himself in the hot, slick flesh between her legs.

His breathing shallowed and tensed.

“Did you miss me?” she questioned, hazel eyes boring into his.

“Yes,” he groaned hoarsely. He wasn't lying. He suddenly wasn't sure how he'd survived the day without her... He was _starved_ for her. Famished.

The satiny skin of her belly and thighs brushing against his erection was unbearably hot, making him groan loudly with undiluted _want_.

She leaned into his chest, rubbing her breasts against him with arching, catlike movements. Her nipples became tight, hard buds, and their pebbled texture brushing against him drove him senseless with need.

He was going to die if he didn’t have her soon.

He needed to hear her sexy moans when he pushed into her over and over again.

“Hmmm…” She writhed on top of him, her wet hair tangling around his face as his hands slid possessively up and down her sides.

He kissed and licked every inch of her skin he could reach, drinking in the taste of her with greedy laps of his tongue.

She trailed hot kisses across his throat and collarbone. Her wet tongue swept over the reckless pulse at his neck, hovering there for long minutes while he sank further into lust.

It was like stepping into the hot, sucking mud at the edge of the swamp. A slow, deadly and inescapable fate for the unwary traveler.

He didn’t even care. He wanted more. He _needed_ it.

“Please…” he whispered, on the brink of insanity.

His eyes raked over her face, taking in the faint dusting of freckles on her cheeks…

_Exquisite_ , he thought, plunging his hands into her hair and she took his lips in a ravenous kiss. The sensation of her tongue sweeping into his mouth made his hands shake and his groin throb.

Greed uncoiled in his gut like a striking cottonmouth, sharp and unexpected. The storm outside raged on, rain pounding furiously against the corrugated metal roof of the cabin.

He gasped at the heat coming off her hands, her body, his mouth falling open. He couldn’t take his eyes off hers.

“Please, I’m … I need…”

He was fucking begging. He didn’t care.

“I know, Ben,” she murmured. “I know exactly what you need.” She slid a hand down his chest, lightly scoring his abs with her nails, before gripping his throbbing erection and slowly stroking him up and down.

“More... Please? Oh, fuck!” he implored, sliding his hands over her hips and waist, up to the soft, delicate sides of her breasts. He moved his thumbs over her nipples, stroking them gently and she arched into his hands.

Lightning struck, just outside, then a quaking rumble of thunder crashed so loudly it shook the walls of the cabin.

“Storm’s heating up,” Rey whispered to him. She was rocking back into him, now, caressing his cock with the smooth silk of the backs of her thighs.

Ben whimpered at the excruciating pleasure.

“Please, sweetheart,” he pled, not caring what he sounded like, not caring about anything but getting in her. He pushed himself against her with a lift of his hips and she gave him a sultry smile through half-closed eyes.

“My name’s Rey,” she murmured. “Say it…and I’ll let you in…”

“Rey. Please, oh, fuck, please.” Ben was frantic, now. He would do anything she wanted.

Anything.

“Tell me this is all mine…” she gripped his erection and rubbed her thumb over the dripping tip of it with just enough pressure to wring an agonized growl from the back of his throat.

“It is – _fuck!_ ”

“And I can do whatever I want with this?” Rey asked, giving him a few hard pumps.

“Yes! Fuck, just – please!” he grunted desperately.

She hovered over him, stroking his chest with her warm, soft hands, careful not to be too rough where she’d scratched and bruised him the previous night.

“Okay,” she relented. Finally.

He parted the slickness between her thighs, dragging the head of his shaft along her dripping heat with a shaking hand.

_Oh, fuck, fuck, yes…_

When she at last sank down onto him, Ben’s body shuddered uncontrollably, and he cried out a wordless exclamation. She felt so perfectly tight around him and they both groaned together as he fit himself into her molten wet heat.

She began to ride him with slow, circular movements of her hips and her inner muscles clenched around him rhythmically, making every neuron in his brain fire at once.

“Is that what you wanted, Ben?” She stared into his eyes with pure hunger.

“Yesssss,” he hissed back at her, arching his hips into hers with quaking thrusts.

He stroked her thighs and belly and breasts, and his hands couldn’t get enough. He wanted to own every drop of her sweat, every breath from those pretty pink lips…

She increased the pace by a fraction and lightning struck again, just over the bayou. This time when the thunder rumbled through the cabin, Ben would have sworn he felt it vibrate through them, through her.

“Ben, you’ve been a bad boy…” she muttered as she began bouncing up and down on him. He could barely understand what she was saying. He was too focused on the intoxicating way her breasts jiggled gently before his eyes, on the way she felt, wrapped around him like tight, wet velvet.

“I can smell another woman on you…” Her head whipped back, and she glared at him through narrowed eyes.

_What the fuck?_

“What did you do today, Ben?” She suddenly looked…quite forbidding. Dangerous, even.

“I. Fuck! I went to town,” he grated out, shifting her legs so she could ride him harder.

“And?” she prompted, dragging her nails down his chest. _Goddamn! That hurt._ But he wasn’t about to tell her to stop. He was getting close.

“Fixed the swamp boat…” She gave his nipple a rough twist and he roared, “FUCK!” as pain lanced through him. It was still tender from the night before, and it fucking hurt.

He glared back at her. But she was still moving over him, and he’d be damned if he made her stop…

“Someone helped you?” she prodded. “A woman?”

“Yeah! Fuck! Rey,” he was trying to concentrate, but _shit_. This bitch was going to kill him.

“Who was it, Ben?” she demanded.

She leaned over him and licked his sore nipple and it seared right through him, straight to his dick.

“Ow! Dammit! Rose?” he snarled at her. Why the fuck did she care?

“Hmm. _Rose…_ ” Rey pivoted her hips over him and moaned, “Just so long as you don’t forget who owns you…”

_The fuck? Oh, shit, she feels so good…_

He didn’t care what the hell she said at this point, just so long as she didn’t stop what she was doing…lifting herself just enough so she could impale herself on him repeatedly…he gripped her hips and dragged her down onto him with the single-minded need to root himself inside her as deeply as he could.

He wanted to absorb the smell of her into his skin, let it soak right into his pores.

She ran her hands over his chest and moaned huskily at him, then moved his hand to press between her legs. He knew what she wanted. He obediently rubbed his thumb over her clit, knowing her orgasm would drag his out of him…

And thunder and lightning struck so close to the cabin, he could feel the electric charge sizzle through the air just as she threw her head back and wailed.

_Oh, fuck, yes._

Her body squeezed and rippled and contracted around him and he bellowed like a dying man as he let her wring him dry in a few prolonged, heaving shudders.

She sat on him, panting lightly, then leaned over as he gasped for breath, and she looked him square in the eyes with the flat, deadly gaze of a gator.

Fear tingled through him. _She shouldn't be here._

_Something...isn't right._

The light in her eyes… it was not of this world.

“When you wake up…you’re gonna feel like you’ve been rode hard and put to bed wet… Nighty-night, cowboy,” she murmured into his ear, right before everything went black.

 

He woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the back door of the cabin.

Pounding, actually. Loudly.

Full sunlight streamed through the curtains over the window. He’d slept late…and the storm had blown itself out already… _weird_.

He looked around for Rey, but he didn’t really expect to find her there.

“Ben?” he heard from outside. “You in there?” _Fuck. The Sherriff._

_Oh. Fuck._

“Yeah!” he called, heart pounding. “Gimme a sec!”

Ben hopped out of bed and threw on his jeans. _Dammit. He came for me after all. Shit-fucking-hell._

After a quick glance down at his chest, which now looked like the scene of a cougar attack, Ben threw on a t-shirt from the neatly-folded stack under his workbench.

_Aw, I hope I’m not getting arrested._

He had a splitting headache and none of his limbs wanted to obey him. He was fucking shaking like a twig in a windstorm and he felt like he needed to puke.

He was in no shape to spend time locked up in county jail…

He took a ragged breath and tried his best to look casual as he opened the door and greeted Sherriff Poe Dameron, standing there.

“Hey!” Poe smiled at him, but the man’s dark eyes looked serious. Ben’s gut churned nervously.

_Oh. Don’t throw up on him, Ben._

“Hey. What can I do for you, Sherriff?” Ben inquired with as much calm as he could muster.

“Oh! Wow. Shit! You okay?” Poe’s sharp glance took in Ben’s messy hair, and probably the bites and scratches on his exposed neck and arms.

_I should have thrown on a flannel._

“Yeah, I just. Slept in.” Ben glanced around at the outside, squinting into the watery sunlight in surprise. “Must have been the storm last night.”

“Uh. Buddy. We didn’t have a storm last night. That was the night before last. You…sure you’re okay?” Poe looked worried.

_What? Wait. What?_

“Um. Yeah. I haven’t been feeling so good… What day is it?” Ben asked cautiously.

“Uh. It’s Wednesday?” Poe replied, watching him intently, now. “You sick?”

_She’d come over on Monday night. I slept through all of yesterday? How the fuck?_

“Yeah. Uh, I’m good. You want some coffee?” Ben asked, widening the door a bit. If Poe was here to arrest him, he sure was taking his time. Ben relaxed just a fraction.

“Actually. I was hoping you could come to town and look at a body for me,” Poe muttered.

“What?” _Whose body?_ Sickening dread poured into him.

“There was … well. It _looks_ like a gator attack, but I figured you might be the only one in the parish to know for sure. County coroner’s office is backed up from the storm – they’re helping out another district that got hit worse than us. And if there’s foul play, I wanna know sooner, rather than later,” Poe explained.

“Oh.” Ben’s heart rate increased. _An attack?_

He chewed his lip for a second. Then he realized Poe was waiting for an answer. “Yeah! Yeah, come on in while I throw on my boots.”

Ben stepped over to where his boots lay next to the stone-cold woodstove, letting the Sherriff step inside.

There’d been an attack. And a gator attack? Those were extremely rare.

And he’d slept through an entire day. After. _After Rey._

What the hell had she done to him?

Something was very, very…off…


	8. A Gator’s Envy Eats Nothing But Its Own Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that blood and gore tag? Yeah...

Ben’s hands shook as he slid his boots on, habitually knocking them against the wall in case of critters.

Old habits died hard, and having lived in rattler territory for years, sticking a foot into a snake-filled boot was about the worst thing he could think of.

Louisiana had its own share of poisonous critters, too. Deadly ones, as Ben well knew.

As he slipped on his boots, he watched the Sherriff stroll into the cabin, noting the haphazardly hung curtains and the round of wood holding up Ben's unmade bed.

Poe adjusted the brim of his hat and murmured to Ben, "Found the body late last night in town. Looks like massive trauma, blood loss..."

Ben shook his head, trying to clear it at the words _massive trauma_ and _blood loss_.

Yeah. Could have been a gator... but, a gator attack with the body left behind? It would be uncommon to the point of statistical unlikelihood. Usually, a gator pulled its victim under the water to drown it, then eat it...

Ben’s stomach roiled as he tried to figure out an inconspicuous way to inquire as to whose body it was.

_Rose_. The strong sense she’d been in danger sliced into his mind as he recalled the flat, wicked stare in Rey’s eyes right before... Overwhelming terror swamped him.

_Oh, fuck. What if...? No -_

He lurched out the back door and vomited into the soft swamp mud behind the porch.

The Sherriff followed him outside, clearly worried as he watched Ben choke and heave into the weeds.

“Hey! Buddy, you sure you’re okay? I can get someone else to take a look at him if you’re not up to it,” Poe exclaimed, frowning.

But, as he spat the remaining vomit from his mouth, Ben got the feeling Poe really wanted him to come to town.

And then he realized Dameron had referred to the body as a "him." _Him? Oh, thank the Lord… not Rose, then._

“Who is it? Do you know?” Ben decided it was best to just ask straight out.

“Plutt,” Dameron said and relief swept through Ben. “Barely recognizable, though. The only way we could really identify him was…his size. And the fact he was wearing those gold crucifixes around his neck – he always wore like, seven or eight, remember?”

“Yeah.” Yeah. Ben remembered. He’d always hated how Plutt would flaunt something as extravagant as gold jewelry while overcharging a starving family for bread.

“You sure you’re up for a trip to town?” Poe inquired, reinforcing his apparent concern. “You look…not great, man.”

Ben stood up from where he’d been crouching and puking.

_You’re gonna feel like you been rode hard and put to bed wet, she'd said._

Why would she have told him that?

Something wasn’t right about the girl. _Rey._

“Yeah, no, I wanna - help. I might stay in town tonight, though. If it’s okay?” Ben had a feeling he didn’t want to be home alone tonight. He needed to clear his head.

Living alone was getting to him. Making him think things, sense things that weren’t … right.

And he really didn’t think his left nipple could take much more abuse if _she_ came back again tonight. No matter how good the sex was.

Poe’s dark eyes scanned him quietly. Then he said, “Well, grab your shit and let’s head out. We’re burning daylight and Plutt’s not getting any fresher…”

Ben gulped and went back into the cabin to throw on a flannel. And his .357. And his bullwhip.

Just in case.

 

The nice thing about living in a small community was how people were pretty tight-knit.  Everyone knew each other, love or hate, and you never had to explain what you were doing or where you were going.

When Ben arrived in town for the third time that week, this time in the company of Sherriff Dameron, not one person batted an eye sideways at him. They all would have heard about the gator attack and made the logical assumption Ben was there to help.

A few people nodded or waved as Poe drove down the main street.  Mostly, though, everyone looked serious or intent in the humid, sultry spring air.

It made Ben feel a bit better. It reminded him even though he lived an isolated life, people still _knew_ him. People still gave a shit.

He noticed a steady stream of people coming and going from Plutt’s store, arms loaded with boxes and random goods from inside the rickety building. Ben arched an inquiring brow at Dameron.

“Damn, Sherriff. That is the most orderly looting I’ve ever seen…” Ben commented with a dry chuckle.

Poe calmly steered his rig around to the run-down building where he shared an office with the local physician.

“Technically, Plutt left the place wide open…” Poe said, finally. “Who am I to say he wasn’t… having a sale?”

Ben bit out a sharp laugh. Plutt _never_ had sales.

Almost as an afterthought, Poe added bitterly, “And it's my job to see justice is served...isn’t it?”

Ben nodded more serious, now. He couldn’t argue with the fairness of letting people help themselves to Plutt’s wares. Not when the giant human shit-stain had withheld so much from the needy community.

Ben’s stomach let out a loud rumble, and he realized he was starving.

Poe noticed and simply told him, “You’ll wanna look at the body first.” He put the car in park and cut the engine. “Then we can get a bite to eat. If you’re still hungry _after_.”

 

When they entered the back room off of Poe’s office, Ben was thoroughly glad he didn’t have anything in his stomach. He’d have emptied it all over the floor from the stench alone.

“ _Fuck!_ Smell could knock a buzzard off a shit truck,” Ben gagged sickly.

Poe, looking only a little green, moved to the examining room table and, without preamble, pulled back the tarp draped over the lumpy shape on the table.

Sure enough, seven gold crosses hung from Plutt’s destroyed throat, glinting obscenely against the shredded flesh.

Ben took one look at Plutt’s ruined chest and throat and knew instantly.

This was no gator attack.

But. It had to have been some kind of animal that had torn open the man’s chest cavity, shredding it like wet paper...

He tried not to notice the way Plutt's exposed fat glistened in the sickly light. Or the way the ribcage looked bone-white against the dead man's lungs and organs...

Swallowing the bile bubbling up from his raw stomach, Ben noticed scratches, all over the face, meaty shoulders, and flabby upper arms.

And…were those _bite_ marks? Way too small to be made from the crude teeth of a hungry gator. They looked…familiar…

And the sickening realization he was covered in similar scratches and marks made the bile surge to the back of his throat.

Ben forced himself to look again. Just to be sure.

There was no way a gator would have been precise enough to rip out a man’s throat and leave his jewelry intact.

There was no way a gator could have opened a man’s chest like that and…

_Where the fuck is his fucking heart?_

Ben heaved.

Nothing came up.

Poe draped the tarp back over Plutt’s body and grasped Ben by the arm, dragging him back outside.

“Shit,” Ben choked, doubling over as wrenching cramps tore through his innards.

“Yeah,” Poe agreed.

“That was no gator attack, Sherriff. I don’t know what the fuck did it. But it wasn’t a gator.” Ben eventually gasped.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Poe finally whispered. “Sorry I asked you to…see that. I just. Wanted to be sure…”

 

The two men headed over to Maz’s bar near the outskirts of town. Neither of them spoke a word.

Ben was glad for the silence.

The bar was dark and quiet in the late morning, and Ben appreciated the lack of curious eyes.

He headed straight to the restroom and scrubbed his hands and face, splashing cold water over his head until his hair was soaked and the sickly, dizzying nausea abated.

He yanked a few handfuls of paper towels from the dispenser by the door and rubbed them vigorously over his face and hair.

_What the fuck is going on, Solo? What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?_ he wondered as he contemplated his haggard expression in the mirror.

When he finally emerged from the restroom, he noted Dameron at the bar, sipping from a coffee mug. Poe had taken the liberty of ordering Ben a coffee, which was waiting for him when he slumped onto the stool, stunned.

“Feel better?” Poe asked quietly.

“Yeah. I’m just. Hungry.” It occurred to Ben if he’d slept through all of yesterday, it had been a while since he’d eaten anything.

“I ordered you some food. Maz is cooking it up right now…”

Ben just nodded his thanks. He really hoped Dameron didn’t want to talk about the body just yet. Poe seemed to understand, and pulled out a pack of smokes, lighting up right there in the bar.

Ben stared at the glowing cherry of Poe's cigarette for half a second. He didn't smoke anymore. _But, when in Rome._

“Can I bum one of those?” Ben mumbled, sipping the scalding-hot brew, not caring if it seared its way down his throat.

Dameron shook the pack with a practiced hand, forcing the filtered end of a cigarette to poke up for Ben to take.

He held up a lighter and Ben dragged on the cigarette with long-forgotten ease.

He’d quit smoking years ago. Somehow lung cancer wasn’t such a huge concern to him at the moment.

Ben drank down the rest of his coffee, and when he finished, Poe got up and walked behind the bar, grabbing the pot to refill both their cups.

Just then Maz Kanata came through from the kitchen, carrying two enormous plates of food. Ben saw chicken-fried steak, eggs, a bowl of grits, and pile of hash browns, all smothered in gravy, along with a rasher of bacon and a large chunk of cornbread, dripping with butter, for each of them.

Surprisingly, Ben was hungry enough he managed to push aside the grisly thoughts from earlier and tuck in.

“Ben Solo!” Maz exclaimed as he shoved a huge forkful of hash browns into his mouth. “You lost weight? You’ve got a look about you…”

Her huge eyes, magnified by her thick glasses, scanned over him with unflinching appraisal.

He kept chewing, avoiding her omniscient stare.

“Never mind. I know the look.” Maz didn’t stop watching him shovel food into his mouth. “You look like a stag at the end of rutting season. Worn the fuck out. You meet a girl?”

Ben choked and reached for his coffee.

Maz grinned. Poe glanced at him from the side of his eyes with a bit of a smile.

It occurred to Ben the worst thing about living in a small community was how people were pretty tight-knit.  Everyone knew each other, love or hate, and you never had to explain what you were doing or where you were going…because they could just tell by looking at you, apparently.

He ignored them both.

Halfway through his breakfast, Ben’s stomach finally started settling down.

He couldn’t help but blurt out the question at the forefront of his mind. “What the fuck happened to his heart?”

Dameron knew what he meant. “Don’t know. Couldn’t find it.”

“What do you think _did_ it? To him?”

“Honestly? My first thought was someone in the parish had finally had enough of his bullshit and just lost it… but I don’t know, Solo. There are only a handful of locals who could’ve overpowered a man Plutt’s size…”

Ben gulped uncomfortably. Ben knew he was probably – no definitely – included in that small group of people. And his distaste for Plutt was no secret among the members of the parish. His nerves prickled uneasily.

“Am I…? Am I a suspect, Sherriff?” Ben finally inquired.

“Well. To be honest, you were,” Poe nodded at him. “Up until about half an hour ago.”

“Why not anymore?” Ben asked, surprised. Then he immediately wanted to kick himself. It wasn't like he wanted to go to prison for a murder he didn't commit.

“The look on your face when you saw him, just now,” Poe answered honestly. “You were…too surprised. I don’t think you’re that good of an actor… Plus, if Maz is right, apparently you’ve had an alibi?”

_Rey._

“Is that really why you dragged me to town?” Ben prodded, mildly annoyed at the Sherriff's deceptive tactics.

Still, though. He guessed he should be impressed with Dameron for having the balls to let a murder suspect hop in his car and ride back to the scene of a crime with him. While armed with a loaded .357 and a bullwhip that could’ve taken his head off…

“It was _one_ of the reasons. But I really did want to know if it was a gator attack. I kinda was hoping it would be." Poe gulped down a large swallow of coffee.

“Nah. Gator would’ve drowned him,” Ben stated softly. 

_A gator wouldn’t have ripped his throat out and eaten just his heart…_

Because Ben knew in his gut wherever Plutt’s heart was right now…it wasn’t in the belly of a gator.

“Where did it happen again? The attack?” Ben questioned curiously.

“On the landing, end of the dock outside of Plutt’s store…”

“No easy way for a gator to get up there,” Ben mused. “Possible. But not likely…”

Gators usually went for an easy kill, striking from under the water, where only their eyes and snout were visible.

“That’s what I thought, too.” Poe scooted back from the bar and slapped his hand down. “Maz. Put that on my tab would you? I need to go make sure things are going all right over at Plutt’s…I think there were some tools and building supplies that might need to get into the right hands, ‘specially after the storm…the Tico’s could use ‘em for sure if nobody else can…”

“Sure thing, Sherriff,” Maz called out from down the bar where she was arranging liquor bottles.

“Thanks, Sherriff,” Ben muttered, mind already whirling on deeper, darker thoughts than the well-organized raiding of the late Unkar Plutt’s General Store.

For some reason, Ben couldn’t rid himself of the earlier instinct he’d had. That it might have been _her_ – Rey – who had been involved somehow.

And the immediate dread he’d felt this morning when he thought the body he’d be looking at might be Rose’s…

_Rose. I need to check on her._


	9. The Green-Ey’d Monster Which Doth Mock the Meat It Feeds On

Ben stayed at Maz’s for a while after Dameron left, noticing with mixed gratitude the Sherriff had left his pack of cigarettes behind.

Unsure, and then uncaring if the gesture had been deliberate, Ben helped himself to a smoke, and then another, as Maz busied herself unobtrusively behind the bar.

A lassitude spread through him, a result of the huge meal he’d just scarfed down combined with the dim light of the bar. He allowed his mind to wander as he smoked and sipped the piping-hot coffee Maz kept pouring in his cup. 

Maz did _not_ approach him again to make additional revelations about what he’d been up to…

Ben wasn’t sure she needed to. She’d seen enough.

She’d seen something of the resultant exhaustion stemming from several days of near-obsession over the girl, Rey. And the strain of several days’ worth of unusual activity… _Something_ would be written all over the lines of his face. And her sharp gaze definitely would not have missed the scratches and marks that were visible above his collar and beyond the sleeves of his flannel.

Customers were trickling in, now, and Ben sat quietly in their company, not really joining in the conversations floating around him, but not ignoring them, either.

Their voices were a kind of friendly companionship to offset the raging torrent of his anxious thoughts.

_“…wonder what happened to him…”_

_“I heard someone ripped his heart out, that true?”_

Ben’s ears picked up on the thread of conversation occurring at a table behind him.

_“Fat old piece of shit never did nuthin’ for us and ours, that’s for sure…”_

_“Yeah, but what would have made someone pissed enough to…you know?”_

_“Don’t know and I don’t care. All I know is he got what he deserved in the end.”_

Ben wasn’t sure he agreed.

Plutt’s body had been brutally torn apart. It would not have been a quick or easy way to go…

He shivered, involuntarily.

_“That’s not the best part, though.”_

_“What?”_

_“I mean, I helped move the body, and I noticed something…tried to tell the Sherriff about it, but…”_

_What?_

_“Well, don’t just sit there…tell us!"_

_“He was only wearing seven of those gold crosses on him when we pulled him off the dock…”_

_“So?”_

_“So? He always wore eight, didden he?”_

_“I don’t know. I tried not to look at his ugly face any more than I had to…”_

_“Well, he did. He always wore eight. Only he wusn’t wearing eight when we hauled him out…Only seven, I counted 'em myself…”_

_“So? He coulda lost one in the fight, it coulda fallen in the water…Anything coulda happened. You don’t know fer sure.”_

_“That’s what Sherriff Dameron said.”_

Ben’s pulse sped up at the last part of the conversation.

It didn’t sit right with him, either.

Those gold crucifixes were notoriously hated throughout the parish. People would take a particular interest in them. Or if one went missing.

And Ben was no expert, but upon reflection, he had the distinct impression whatever or whoever had torn Plutt apart had left those crosses on his neck. Deliberately.

Unease hovered around him as he stood, reaching into his jeans for his wallet.

“No charge, Ben,” Maz noticed his movement and waved at him to stop.

Ben froze, hand in his pocket.

“Sherriff took care of your breakfast and no need to tip the owner,” she said, squinting at the shocked expression on his face.

“Um…” Ben swallowed the gorge that had sprung back into his throat with a vengeance, and carefully extracted his hand from his pocket. “Thank you kindly, Maz. That was. That was a helluva breakfast.”

_You need to leave. Now, Solo._

“No problem,” she muttered, swiping a rag over the bar after clearing his coffee cup. “Don’t be a stranger, now, you hear?”

 _Get out, get out before she sees something is wrong._  

“Um. I won’t,” Ben said rapidly, as he turned to leave. When he reached the door he called out, “Have a nice day, Maz!”

Then he pushed through in a rush and stumbled a few steps into the sunny early afternoon.

His urge to go check on Rose would have to wait a while longer.

He’d just found a much bigger problem, stuck in his pocket next to his wallet.

A problem in the shape of a small, metal cross on a chain.

 

He stumbled out of the bar and looked up and down the street, wondering what the hell to do. He was positive he'd felt something in his pocket next to his wallet. Something that did not belong to him.

His heart was thundering out of control, and he felt a cold sweat break out over his forehead.

Something was deadly, dangerously wrong.

He started walking, as casually as he could, to the General Store, noticing the looting had died down in the growing sultry heat of the day.

He swept through the still-open front door, nodding to a handful of people still poking around the now mostly-empty shelves, but he did not stop to converse.

He headed straight out the back door to the end of the dock.

He needed to see where it had happened for himself.

The dock was grey and weather-worn, but sturdy, built on deeply-sunk pilings made to endure the constant flow of water and storms.

As he strode to the end, he could see clearly a large chalk outline on the roughly weathered wooden planks. And dried blood, nearly black from having baked in the sun for hours.

It was…everywhere.

A faint iron stench hit his nose and he fought himself from retching up his breakfast.

He scanned up and down the waterway, looking for signs of approaching boats, but saw nothing but birds and small rippling waves and lightly waving greenery in the distance.

Water splashed softly around the pilings, covering the sound of his pounding heart.

He turned, as if casually examining the scene for himself, and made sure nobody approached as he put his hand back into his pocket.

The sun caught the gold in his hand with a twinkle and a gleam as he examined a gold cross on a chain. Exactly like one Plutt would have worn.

His breath caught in his chest as he saw an unmistakable substance on it, which he flicked at curiously with the edge of his fingernail until it flaked away.

Dried blood.

_How the fuck did it get there?_

_What the fuck is happening?_

His gut churned, and his brain could only return one answer to his frantic internal questioning.

_Rey._

 

Part of him was sorely tempted to head straight to Rose’s place, but some instinct told him if he spoke with her again Rey would somehow know about it.

The other night, she’d said she could _smell_ another woman on him.

And she had been pissed about it.

Ben racked his brain trying to recall everything he could, but all he could think of was how he had one of Plutt’s blood-covered crucifixes in his back jeans pocket and he couldn’t fucking remember how it got there.

_“You’re gonna feel like you’ve been rode hard and put to bed wet.”_

Had he been…sleeping the whole time? Or had he somehow…done something else?

Logic kicked in or tried to. There was no way he could have traveled to town, in the dark, in the swamp boat, killed Plutt, and come back with not a trace of blood on him…

 _No. There’s no way._  And, the swamp boat had been exactly where he’d left it on Monday when he’d raced the storm back from town.

He always parked it at the far end of the dock, unless he knew weather was coming in.

And he was sure when he’d gone outside to puke that morning, the boat hadn’t been moved.

He was also sure if he’d left any blood-covered evidence lying around, Dameron would have spotted it and arrested him.

Dameron had been in the cabin that morning too.

Ben tried to feel relieved, knowing the Sherriff probably wouldn’t have bought him breakfast and left him at Maz’s if the man suspected Ben of murder...

But the persistent nagging at the back of his mind would not disappear.

_Something is wrong._

He could feel it. Feel it in his gut.

A slight breeze kicked up the chain in his hand, and he realized how incredibly stupid he was for standing at the scene of a brutal murder with an obvious piece of evidence.

Ben debated on turning it in and telling the Sherriff he’d just found it.

But Dameron had been right when he’d said Ben was a terrible actor.

He thought about hurling the chain into the swamp. He’d been about to do it, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

_Shit. It’s Rose._

He tried to pull his face into a semblance of normal and shoved the cross into his front jeans pocket, where it seared a hot, guilty brand right into his hip. 

_I need to get back to the cabin._

_Look for clues._

_Figure out what the fuck to do._

“Hey, I heard you were out here, Ben!” Rose exclaimed, coming in for a hug.

Shit. Rey is going to be furious, he thought erratically, as he gave Rose a one-armed hug, turning them away from the gruesome scene of Plutt’s execution.

Because that’s what it had been, without a doubt. 

A fucking execution.

“Hey, Rose. How are you?” Ben asked, trying to sound casual. He over-enunciated his words and she cocked her head at him, noticing.

“How are _you?_ ” she quipped. “Dameron make you look at the corpse, yet?”

“What?” _How did she know about that?_

“Oh, come on, Ben! You were, like, at the top of his shit list! Everyone in town was…” Her eyes fell at his horrified look. “Oh. Shit, I was just teasing, Ben! Everyone knows you are like, the nicest guy in the parish.”

_Hell. I hope I am. Who knows what the fuck I’ve been up to?_

He tried for a conciliatory chuckle and it came out as an ironic grunt. It was the best he could do under the circumstances.

Her fallen expression momentarily distracted him from his dark thoughts.

“Rose. Are you okay? I mean, is everything in town like…okay?” Ben asked quietly, walking her away from the end of the dock. Back to safety, which at this point was relative, Ben supposed.

“Yeah, same as always. Got some new tools for the shop today,” she replied, a bit of smugness in her voice, now.

“Yeah? I heard Plutt was having a sale,” Ben joked weakly.

She giggled and punched his arm. Right where Rey had bitten him. He winced, and she caught it.

“Ben. Are you sure everything is all right? You don’t look…like yourself…” she asked somberly.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah! I’m good. I just. I’m not sure if I should bother the Sherriff for a ride back to the cabin…” he trailed off. He’d told Dameron he wanted to stay in town tonight.

But now? He wasn’t sure that was a great idea.

“Hey! I’ll give you a ride!” Rose exclaimed. “Then we can visit for a bit!”

“Rose, that’s a thirty-mile round trip…” Ben wavered. He could give her gas money.

Four miles over the swamp waters versus fifteen by dusty road – he definitely preferred the swamp boat. But, beggars couldn't be choosers. 

“Nah, it’ll be fun. Plus, I closed up shop today. The whole parish is kind of…taking the day off,” Rose said softly, dark eyes wandering over his haggard expression and alighting on the scratches on his neck.

_Shit._

_I need to get back to the cabin._

“Well, sure, then. Yeah. I’d much appreciate a ride, Rose, if you can spare the time.”

She jumped up to peck him on the cheek and he dipped his face down on instinct, the curse of a very tall man. Always bowing and leaning to accommodate the other shorter people in his life…

Shit. Rey was going to smell that on him for sure.

 

The whole way back Ben could only think of one glaring problem. Surprisingly, it distracted him from the fact he had Plutt's cross in his pocket. No, the real problem on his mind was if giving Rose a hug had pissed Rey off as much as it had the other night…then riding in her truck for half an hour after two hugs and a kiss on the cheek was going to set her off but good.

Rey was going to fucking kill him.

Rose chattered the whole time, making the ride easy for Ben, who preferred to nod and smile at the appropriate times and otherwise sink into brooding silence.

It was nearing dinner time when Rose finally pulled her truck into the dirt patch that served as a driveway in front of his cabin.

Ben turned to her, not sure why he did and gave her another one-armed hug.

“Rose. You have a gun, right? I mean…until they catch whoever…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, but thankfully Rose picked up on his meaning.

“Don’t worry about me, Ben. I know how to handle myself,” she soothed. “Check the glove box.”

He raised a brow and opened the glove compartment in front of him. Inside was a little .38 Special.

 _That’s not big enough_ , he worried. _Not to take out whatever…whoever did that to Plutt…_

On an impulse, he stepped out of the truck and unholstered the .357 while the door was still open.

“You take this, too,” he insisted, setting it on the passenger seat as seriously as laying a baby in its crib. He suddenly felt very naked.

But it was the right thing to do.

Rose tried to protest. “Ben, I can’t take your gun! No way!”

But Ben just shook his head and shut the door. “I’ve got a shotgun," he told her through the rolled-down window. "I’m all good.”

At the stubborn gleam in his eyes, Rose lifted her eyes to the sky and mouthed the words “thank you” as she put the truck in reverse and maneuvered it back to the road.

A .38 was an okay gun for scaring off smaller animals.

But a .357 would blow a hole the size of a cantaloupe in a larger beast. And those were the ones Ben was worried about.

 

He made his way into the cabin, feeling oddly restless.

He was hungry again, and he still had a few hours of daylight left.

He would make himself some food, maybe fry up a steak. Then he would start looking for clues.

He swept off his hat and his bullwhip, before pulling the gold chain and cross from his front jeans pocket. He contemplated it for a long minute before setting it on his workbench and making his way to the back porch. He stopped at the utility sink to scrub his hands and face.

The water from the sink came from the swamp and wasn’t heated, but it was cool and refreshing nonetheless.

He scrubbed a towel over his face, deep in thought and opened the icebox to grab a steak.

Turns out he didn’t have to look too hard for clues, after all.

Sitting on top of the butcher-wrapped packages of meat, wedged between the eggs and the butter, was a thing that looked very much like a human heart, if Ben wasn’t much mistaken.

He was no expert. But, he was pretty sure he’d just found Unkar Plutt’s missing heart.

 


	10. When Envy Breeds Unkind Division: There Comes the Ruin of a Gator-Wrangler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know it's been ages since I've updated this, but to my handful of loyal readers, here is the next chapter and we are nearing the end of this little tale...Enjoy! XOXO!

Ben stared at the heart for a full ten minutes. Until his legs began to cramp from crouching and he had to stand to let the blood flow.

He was in shock, he figured. Numb from it.

He had no idea how the damned thing had found its way into his icebox. Just as he couldn’t figure out how Plutt’s blood-encrusted gold cross had turned up in his pocket earlier…

And yet.

And yet, he knew it had something to do with _her_.

_Rey._

His appetite was long gone.

He grabbed a beer out of the cooler and popped the cap, pretty much on autopilot, at this point.

Two hours until sunset.

And he most likely _reeked_ of Rose.

_Shit. If she smells that…_

His heart began thumping a hard, staccato tempo that had become all too familiar lately.

_What the hell is going on?_

First things first.

He was supposed to chop firewood yesterday morning.

He shucked out of his flannel and t-shirt, then swigged down the beer so fast the carbonation made him belch a little.

He moved robotically to fill the water bucket, knowing he would want a hot bath after chopping wood.

He started a fire in the stove and filled the bucket and set it on the stove to heat.

Then he grabbed another beer and his axe and went out back to start chopping.

He would need to hurry if he wanted to be done before full dark…

Ben spent the next hour and a half splitting wood rounds into usable pieces and filling the bucket and heated water until the air outside changed into that pre-dusk cool, just a hint of oncoming nightfall he could sense instinctively from having lived in the outdoors all his life.

Mindless work left plenty of room for worrying contemplation. Ben tried to focus on the mindless part, figuring he’d had time enough for the worry after the sun set…

Slowly, the tub filled with warmish water and the wood piled up into an orderly stack, and his sweat poured, and his muscles warmed, and the bruises and scratches on him stung from the salt of his sweat, and his mind burned with the memory of a gaping, bloody chest cavity and a blood-crusted gold chain with a cross on it, and a missing heart that wasn’t missing at all, but sitting innocuously in his icebox.

The sky was just beginning to turn the purpley-pink indicating sunset was not far off, when Ben stopped mid-swing and set his axe down.

He turned to the cabin and walked inside, locking the door behind him for the first time since he’d moved there. He wasn’t sure it would do any good. But it made him feel a hell of a lot better.

It wasn’t as if he’d expected her to break the damn thing down. He hoped.

He poured the last bucket of hot water into the tub, shucked off his boots and jeans, and grabbed another beer from the cooler, before locking the door on that side of the cabin, too. He completely ignored the icebox.

Then he sat in his tub half-full of lukewarm water and silently freaked the fuck out.

He didn’t scream or cry or lash out at the inanimate objects around him.

Rather, he prepared his body as if…as he were going to attend a wedding. Or a funeral.

His own.

He scrubbed himself thoroughly, even using a bristle brush to clean under his fingernails, uncaring of the burn of soap sinking into his scratches and bruises. He only owned a small hand-mirror, but he had a razor-sharp straightedge and could shave pretty much by feel.

Then he tried to wash his hair before he realized he needed more water to rinse it…

_Fuck it._

He recklessly grabbed the soap and strode outside, straight down to the end of dock.

Twilight, now.

_If I am going to die, then I will die in the open air, a free man,_ he thought recklessly.

“Solo, you sound like a crazy person,” he muttered out loud, then laughed because he was talking to himself.

Shivering at the contrast in the air between his stove-warmed cabin and lukewarm bath and the slight breeze drifting over the marsh, Ben hopped feet first off the dock into the cold waters of the swamp and finished scrubbing his hair as he half treaded water, dunking himself repeatedly.

He was damned lucky there weren’t any gators nearby.

When the moon began to creep fully into the sky and the stars began peeping through the scattered clouds, he finally climbed out through the reeds and went back inside, locking the door behind him.

Turns out, locking the door was totally unnecessary.

She was already inside, sitting on the bed waiting for him.

He stood there, naked and dripping and shivering looking at her in confused accusation.

Something was wrong. And this girl was at the root of it.

Finally, she cocked her head and muttered, “So. Did you like my present?”

_I fucking knew it. The heart. Or the cross? Those were hers…_

All he could do was stutter, “Ahh…which one?”

She returned his stare with a quiet calm.

He’d never seen her so still before.

Something was different.

It took him a minute to realize what the difference was… He felt entirely like himself. No overflowing wrath. No all-consuming greed… He wasn’t overly tired, other than a bit worn out from chopping the wood.

He was just…Ben Solo. Soft-spoken, humble gator-wrangler who was at the moment naked and dripping all over the wooden planks of the floor of his cabin. Which happened to be in the middle of nowhere...

And then he felt it.

The full force of her fury hit him like a charging bull.

Ben had only almost died a few times in his life.

One of those times had been when he’d been working in Wyoming. He’d been cutting cattle from the herd and had almost gotten himself stomped on when a longhorn had snagged his leg out of the stirrup, knocking him right off his horse…

While humiliating, he’d been thoroughly glad he’d only needed a few stiches in his leg and hadn’t gotten his chest caved in by several dozen tons of stampeding cattle…

The moment he’d been ripped from the saddle, though, he’d _felt_ it. An all-knowing sense of total doom. Of complete and absolute surety: He was going to die.

That was the feeling engulfing him as he stared into the beautiful hazel eyes of the girl sitting on his bed.

She was going to fucking kill him.

The human fight-or-flight mechanism is an amazing thing. Ben always thought he’d be more of a fighter…but just then at that particular moment in time…he wanted to _run_. And hide.

He fought himself from cowering away from her, this slip of a girl half his size. He fought the urge to cover his crotch, which felt strangely vulnerable under her inspecting gaze, and he definitely fought the overwhelming desire to plead or try to explain so she would stop glaring at him…

He was getting cold and starting to shiver. His teeth were close to chattering involuntarily. He did not want to make any sudden movements, so he clenched his jaw.

She made him wait a full minute before she blinked slowly. She sniffed the air and her lip curled up.

“I can smell that woman on you, Ben. You tried to scrub her away. But you didn’t quite _get_ _it_ _all_ …”

Well. He’d fucking _tried_ , goddammit.

He’d tried, and now he was sinking into a bit of despair. Because Rey – the girl sitting on his bed – looked incredibly _distraught_. Her feelings…were hurt.

And he still had a strong sense of danger.

But it did not stop him from uttering the stupidest thing he’d ever spoken aloud.

“She’s a friend. I’ve known Rose forever, for years. That’s it… And you? I mean…I don’t know where you’re _from_ or anything about _you_...”

His lips were turning blue from the cold. His words weren’t coming out right.

Rey glared at him.

_Um. Hit reverse, Solo. You’re pissing her off…_

“I mean…as far as I know, you’re nothing, from nowhere…and Rose is…”

_Nope. That’s making it worse. Shut the fuck up. Stop talking._

Rey stood and paced around him and Ben felt like he was being stalked by a cat…it was at once the most terrifying and _irrefutable_ sensation of doom he’d ever felt. As if his life was over and it was only a matter of time before he stopped breathing.

“You’re nothing,” he tried again, “but not to me…”

He was desperate to try to make her understand, as pathetic as it was.

Because Rey, she _did_ mean something to him. He felt connected to her somehow. A sense of destiny or something.

In spite of the human heart in his icebox and criminal evidence he’d found earlier.

Not to mention the gory murder. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that was her fault, too.

She smiled at him and his heart stopped cold.

“Tell you what, cowboy.” She traced a finger over his chest and hovered over his bruised nipple before she moved it down, down over his abs to stroke along the trail of hair low on his belly. “You need to learn a lesson…so I’ll give you until midnight to get your ass to town and find me. Or I’m gonna show you what I’m _really_ capable of.”

And with that, she marched out the door, leaving him shivering in shock as the chill night air swept in and drew goosebumps over his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter [@beegood_amy](https://twitter.com/beegood_amy) for updates to my ever-growing smut collection and occasional tweets. XOXO!


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